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{TEXT} :: Not Even Sorry

[vivelavenir]

[A few days after Jehan had come back, Courfeyrac would wake up with the answer to his enquiry on how he'd thought of thanking him scrawled across his arm. Yes, quite literally, in the best ink he had. He'd taken care not to injure his skin in any way, but the entirety of his right forearm had been taken up with these couplets while he slept. Jehan had left thereafter to go pay the promised visit to Combeferre; something of which he kindly made note of on a piece of scrap paper, and not Reynaud's right arm; but there he had it.

Even if Courfeyrac could not make heads or tails of it, it got across both Jehan's gratitude and his affection in the way he'd meant for it to. And there was something just eccentric and possibly conjoining enough about the idea of writing freehand on the object of your attention; and not simply for that object; that had tickled him.

Very lucky for him it hadn't actually tickled Courfeyrac. Difficult to explain this to someone if they woke up halfway through.]


For You:

'Fancy presented to merry Bia,
A rosy ally, to be twined,
Leapt from shadows of misgiving,
To where amorous intentions pined;
Confiding in a muted tone,
It's warmest affections consigned,
Begged blot the page above the heart,
By Roman de la poire's design.

Bia lined her siblings gaily,
Like teeth in rows that form a smile,
Which between, a cutlass keeping!,
And played a game in random style;
A chantons ensemble in the fours--
Zelos lost rhythm; Kratos cried;
Nike flew to first position,
And let all wrong objections die.'

-J.

[lecentre]

[It was in Jehan's favor, then, that Courfeyrac slept like the dead more often than not. He would, however, not have minded to wake up in the middle, as strange as it may have been.

When he woke, the first he looked for was the note and once he found it and felt better, only then did he realize his arm was written on. He had to twist his arm a little awkwardly to read it, and once he did read it, he couldn't say that he understood it. He really wasn't one to have a knack for poetry....

But his face flushed all the same, at the idea that Jehan had taken the time to write the poetry on his arm in the first place. There really was something strangely affection about it.]

[->Action]

[vivelavenir]

[When he'd returned, he was easy on the door; only opening it softly and prodding his head in by measures to see if Courfeyrac was awake yet. Not an entirely strange assumption to make, that he might sleep so late into the day-- he did have a tendency towards laziness, though Jehan might never been so unkind as to put it exactly in those terms. He might, in warmest tones, prefer to call him "idle of attitude, not of mind."

Granted, he did harbour the slight and quickening hope that he was awake and had read it by this time. He was bashful of his own writing, but he meant what he'd left on him thoroughly, and so was eager that he should have found it complimentary, if not... comprehensible, really.

Based on Courfeyrac's own poetry, comprehensible would perhaps be asking too much.

So, biting his lip just a touch, he let the upper half of his body enter the room, noticed the man awake, and could not help but a small smile, before letting the rest of himself in.]

You slept agreeably?

[lecentre]

[Courfeyrac was lounging in their bed, back against the wall, still reading the poem that Jehan had left on his arm. When he heard the door open, he dropped his arm and smiled up at him, nodding.]

I did, yes. However, my waking hours have been more pleasant as I woke up to such a lovely surprise.

[He couldn't help a small laugh as he shifted in the bed to allow room for Jehan if he chose to join him.]

Did you have a nice visit with Combeferre?

[vivelavenir]

[Unable to help a soft laugh, at both the chipper look across his face and the charm with which he spoke of the poem, Jehan abandoned his post at the door, shut it securely, and moved to take the offered spot beside him on the bedding, sitting gingerly on its edge, hands clasped over the side.]

It was well enough. I wanted the browse the novels he had mentioned. They are, admittedly, scandalous choices for a doctor.

[Romantic women's fiction. What a delight to discover that vein of interest in his dear friend.]

And... you. You are not upset that I've left a brief scar upon your person?

[lecentre]

[Well, if Jehan was going to sit on the edge of the bed, he was going to shift closer.]

Are they? You'll have to tell me more about it later.

[Though at the question, he smiles and shakes his head. He moves closer, wrapping his arms around Jehan from behind and resting his head on his shoulder.]

I am the opposite of upset, cher, it was a pleasant surprise.

[vivelavenir]

[Well... he shouldn't find reason for complaint on that note, ought he? Smiling again, though perhaps more bashfully than before, he tucked his head down. After a moment of debate with himself, he allowed for easing into the hold and leaning back into the other body.]

Then, you are no longer suspended from knowing how I chose to thank you. I am relieved it was equal to your gladness.

[And really, he was; he knew that it was a little bit... well, peculiar... writing on someone, much without their permission.]

[lecentre]

That was a creative way of thanking me, perfectly you.

[Tightening his hold on Jehan just a bit, he hummed happily.]

I would not oppose if you chose to do this again sometime, all the better if I'm awake for at least part of those times. You will not, however, be cross if I admit I did not fully understand it, will you?

[vivelavenir]

[A flush at that line, but Jehan did look undeniably pleased. Lifting a hand, he settled it over the arm he had not marked up, and gave it his customary squeeze, tilting his head to bat against the other as his brow furrowed.]

Cross? No. Lawyers understand very little, after all.

[Teased, before a second smile gave it away. More resolutely, he gave his head a small shake.]

Cher, should it be easily understood, I might have simply said it to you out loud. The marvelous thing about poetry is that to each there is an owned meaning. I imparted it with one, but I left it in your care for another. I could explain mine, or you yours, or neither at all; it would not matter. The words belong to you, however you understand them.

[lecentre]

Do we? Perhaps it's because we take all words at face value.

[But he still laughs just a little, closing his eyes and batting back at Jehan with his head lightly.]

So, the poetry is open to interpretation, not only to the one reading it, but the one who wrote it. I should not care to lose these words any time soon, might I add. You must promise to replace them with something else when I must eventually rinse them away.

[vivelavenir]

Ooohhh... [Jehan gave a playful cringe at that. There were few people he felt so comfortable with as to be sportive, but after what had happened especially, and its aftermath... this came with an ease he would not give up for anything.] At face value only... the price would be expensive, but the worth cheap. You lawyers use words like fishing-men use hooks; many, and crooked, and with damning purpose.

[He was, again, teasing... for the most part, anyway. Some lawyers were certainly of that make, yes. But Courfeyrac had a silver tongue, and a golden heart to accompany it. Thereby;] But I do not put you with such a make of man. I would say you use words more like a harpist; to a tune that's ever-delightful, often important, and yet floats away with such ease that sometimes one remembers the ditty better than the lyrics.

[That said, he peeked down at what he had written, admittedly a bit thrilled with the idea of his liking it so much as to make it a sort of game, or tradition. What a pretty notion...]

The words will be with you always; as ink sinks in, a little. Down to your very blood, therefore, it is written. [Well, he couldn't help being himself; sometimes his ideas were a little bit beyond the pale.] And the sentiment of them is yours, also, for as long as you'll keep it in your heart. But, if it is your wish, I may repeat it.

[lecentre]

Written word, my love. Lawyers do not use such flower prose in written word.

[But he's smiling still, burying his face in Jehan's neck for a moment since he can. Since it's there, why not?]

The words will never leave me, for they've even become ingrained in my mind. The ink in my blood and words in my mind, I'll never lose them. [He smiles and presses a kiss to Jehan's neck, though the fabric in his way.]

I would not mind for you to repeat it whenever inspiration strikes. I would enjoy it more than anything.

[vivelavenir]

They write in deeper riddles still! [He laughed lightly, perhaps tilting his head just so in order to provide him more room; for who did not enjoy attention to the neck, however debilitated by fabrics?] Poetry is easier to grasp the meaning of than a text of law; jouissance! I'd rather own the flower prose than the technical vocable.

[Tracing his fingers still against his arm, he could not help but give way to another smile, quite in his element, and cosy.] I will make a promise to you of another, then. I will never write those I give you anywhere elsewhere; they are yours.

[A beat, before, deciding to vex him playfully;] Really, there is nothing you would enjoy more? Then I have very little work to do, for you.

[lecentre]

[Courfeyrac laughs as he continues with the attention, then, since there is more room provided.]

I'd rather you own the flower prose, I cannot imagine you any other way. It is why we fit so well, I believe.

[He was ready to respond to the promise when Jehan continued. Letting out a slightly exasperated sigh against his neck, he tried his best not to laugh.]

You knew what I meant, cher. Poor word choice on my behalf when you're clearly in such a teasing mood, I see.

[vivelavenir]

I cannot bear to argue with anything you believe fits us.

[He assured, shifting in bits, enough to face him a little more properly, without entirely dislodging his current... efforts, so to speak.

Though, he did then have to bite back a laugh of his own as he assured impishly,]

You say lawyers have an exact nature, in their words. So, you have been exact with me. I have heard, and understood. I won't dream of putting you to bed without poetry to keep your affections warm; it is a wonder you have ever resorted to anyone besides a poet, if that is what makes your heart race and keeps you content.

[Well, you did really set yourself up for it, Reynaud. And as it wasn't so easy for Jehan to joke regarding the actual nature of what they were discussing without becoming a blundering mess; current company considered; it was much simpler to do it in this double-context.]

[lecentre]

An exact nature in written word, not spoken.

[If his goal was to exasperate, he's succeeded. He raises his eyebrows at Jehan, now that they're facing each other more properly. But, instead of walking into what was set up, he smiles slightly and nudges his nose against Jehan's cheek.]

You are what makes my heart race and what keeps me content. Not just your poetry.

[vivelavenir]

Ah, I keep forgetting. Forgive me.

[He does, however, colour a little at the correction, given rather sincerely rather than following in line with the joke. Batting his head down just a little, and picking up a hand to toy with one of the buttons of Courfeyrac's costume, he relented,]

Well... then I suppose I cannot abandon you with just letters at night. You are very sweet, even when I am being so prickly.

[Which earned a nudge in return and a contented slump.]

[lecentre]

[He grins, perhaps a little smugly, as Jehan relents.]

I'm sorry... But every response that was on the tip of my tongue was just as sweet. I was unable to speak anything but the truth.

[He presses a kiss to Jehan's brow and laughs a bit.]

You may continue to be prickly, if you want.

[vivelavenir]

[He closed his eyes at that and made a little bit of a face. Not because what Courfeyrac said offended him in any sense; no, of course not; but because it was so sunny and kind that it was almost difficult to accept, without some form of deprecation. Jehan was not very used to a constancy of compliments, and was very timid of snapping them up so easily, without protest.]

I cannot continue; you've cut me off, I'm afraid. You're impossibly... [Generous? Gentle? Good?] ...impossible.

[He decided, leaning into him, and returning the kiss to his cheek.]

You are amiable enough to make even an Aztec funeral mask smile, and I feel sure you could turn a pebble into a seed and have it blossom, if you spoke kindly to it for long enough.

[lecentre]

Impossibly impossible? Have I had such an effect on you, cher?

[He cannot help but jest back at him.]

You say such things, I can gladly test those theories of yours... But I'm afraid you are all but feeding my already too large ego.

[vivelavenir]

And now you've the upper hand. Indeed, such is your effect.

[It's sometimes a miracle of all the saints that he is able to still think after something Courfeyrac has said, much less to speak.]

I get a little joy out of feeding it, if I am honest. Too large and it may knock me over; but pleasantly kept, and I have no trouble in coddling it. Please forgive me that.

[He didn't see himself running out of praises any time soon.]

[lecentre]

Do you? No wonder you praise me so often, as long as you do not mind that I often return the favor?

[Pressing kisses along his brow softly, he chuckles.]

Though, since I am not nearly as good with words, I'll be content to returning the favor with actions.

[vivelavenir]

Is that modesty?

[He gave back at the comparison, still predictably a shade of pink from the aforementioned actions. He did finally go to return those kisses, though less in number; one to his chin and the other to the corner of his mouth.]

I feel as if it is lucky we are among the stars... on earth, surely one god or another would be jealous over my having so much.

[He sincerely felt that way; over-fortunate, in having such a person love him in return.]

[lecentre]

Perhaps... but it is more the truth than anything else.

[Closing his eyes at those kisses, he smiled a little more.]

How lucky we are, yes... I would hate to tempt any higher being into punishing us for being so lucky to have found each other as we have.

[vivelavenir]

[Well, since he had the rare occasion of having his eyes open while Courfeyrac had his closed...

He took the opportunity to press a butterfly kiss to each lid, and smile softly.]

No one could punish you on that count, surely, God or man. I believe; and will hold no argument against; that I am the luckier of we two. It is a pretty thing, to be so enamored. And while I am prone to it, you... that is. Never quite to this extent.

[Admitted, softly, before--]

Ah. Do you know what 'Roman de la poire's' design is, cher?